The Misfortune of Sharing a Name With Harry Potter
by hazel-faerie
Summary: Harry Potter - no not THE Harry Potter, just A Harry Potter - knew long before he even got his Hogwarts letter that his name was going to be an issue. He just hadn't been counting on the fact that THE Harry Potter would want to use this issue to prank the entire school. After all, why have just one Boy-Who-Lived? Might as well have two. (AU PARTS, SLYTHERIN HARRYS)
1. Chapter 1

_A/N - This idea came to me whilst musing on Connie Glynn's book Undercover Princess. I highly recommend you read it - it's a beautiful book._

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Harry Potter – no, not _the_ Harry Potter – let out a sigh of relief as he slipped out of the claustrophobic corridor and into an empty compartment. Running a hand through his burnt-copper hair, he slouched against the bench-seating and looked out of the compartment window to the busy platform beyond it.

Platform 9 ¾ was filled with fretting parents/guardians; younger siblings throwing tantrums over how _they_ wanted to go to Hogwarts _too_ ; wistful seventh years; excitable first years split between the visibly nervous and the overcompensating nervous; indignant pets stuffed in cages tossed this way and that and just general _noise_. Harry, for one, was incredibly glad he'd escaped the pandemonium.

He'd arrived by himself. His aunt, with whom he lived, couldn't possibly care less about Harry and would likely not notice his absence whilst he gone. She gave him the required money to live, allowed him to live in her flat, and signed what little that needed signing, but that was it. He didn't mind. He was just grateful he wasn't in the care system or on the streets. And to show his gratefulness he kept out of her way, and that included making his own way to King's Cross Station by the way of two trains, a bus and then a short walk.

Making himself comfortable in preparation for the long journey ahead, Harry dipped his hand into his bag and rummaged for a few moments before pulling out a beautifully bound, worn book of muggle faerie tales. Harry loved stories, especially the magical kind. They provided him with new worlds, new lives, new angles to explore, and taught him life lessons and occasional facts without him actively having to go on some life-endangering adventure or be cursed by a wicked stepmother. He didn't know what he would do without stories.

This particular book had been his mother's. Ella Potter had loved stories just like he did and was the one responsible for Harry's story obsession. She had brought him up on faerie tales – both muggle and wizarding – and as he had grown up, the stories she had weaved, or read aloud from well-thumbed library books had matured with him. But she had always come back to this book: Grimm's Fairy Tales, Volumes 1 and 2. It had been her mother's book before her, and now it was Harry's.

As he read the familiar words, he could almost hear her voice reading along with him. It was with an almost wistful sadness that he turned each page, brushing his thumb against the aged paper, but also with an increased strength that built up within him; his mother's presence filling him with confidence and pushing away his fears.

"One day you will go to Hogwarts, little prince," she would say to him, "and when you do, I just know you will shine."

Harry swallowed, forcing back tears. He _would_ shine. He would shine for _her_.

The journey to Hogwarts was long, as expected, and he was not disturbed for any of it, for which he was grateful. He was about to spend a year in permanent company, and he wished to relish what little alone time he had left. For some of the journey he read, for the rest he watched the world speed by, the sky's colours changing with the landscape. By the time the train had begun to slow, the sky was a deep purple with white pinpricks that glittered in the late evening.

Harry stood, taking a deep breath. ' _Time to face the music,'_ he thought sardonically, before pushing open his compartment door and stepping out into the flooding chaos of the corridor. He allowed himself to be swept along with the flow of students scrambling for the doors, and leaking out into the cool summer evening air, onto a dark platform.

Shivering, he moved away from the train, looking around in hope of a sign of what to do next.

"Firs' years! Firs' years! This way! Firs' years!"

Looming over the crowd, grasping a large lamp, was a man nearly as tall as the trees surrounding the platform. He had bushy, wiry black hair and a beard that hid most of his face, only sparing rosy cheeks, and smiling beetle eyes.

"Firs' years!" he called. "Come on now!"

Harry hesitantly moved over towards the man, noting a few others near him do the same – many of them staring.

"Firs' years! Anymore firs' years?" The man paused. "No? Right then. Follow me! Firs' years! This way!"

The giant man led the group of shivering first years off the platform and down a dark, narrow path through the thick trees. They slipped and slid as they navigated the poorly lit route, sticking close to the lantern swinging ahead of them, and the man's voice as he rattled onto them in his broad accent. After a short while, the path opened up to a small, stony bank that faded into a perfectly still lake that mirrored the sky.

A collective 'ooh' went out across the first years as the stepped onto the bank, as there, jutting from the other side of the lake on a striking cliff, was Hogwarts. The castle was a collection of turrets, spirals and towers that imprinted itself against the night sky, its window glowing warmly, and Harry couldn't help but feel as though it was welcoming them home.

"No more than four to a boat!" the man yelled, stomping over to the water's edge.

Harry blinked, tearing his gaze away from the castle to see a small fleet of rowboats.

"Come on!"

The first years moved forward, dispersing into the boats. Harry found himself sitting in a boat with a bushy haired girl, a ginger boy he suspected was a Weasley, and a slight boy with raven-hair and emerald eyes that rivalled Harry's own. Harry and the raven stared at each other for a few moments, and Harry found himself feeling an unexplainable tug towards the stranger, before the raven looked away and the feeling snapped. Thoroughly unsettled, Harry turned his gaze back to Hogwarts.

"Forward!" the man yelled.

With a small jolt, the boats leapt forward and began to glide across the lake's glass surface. Harry gripped the side of the boat with his hand out of instinct at the sudden movement, before relaxing. A small flutter of excited nerves bloomed within him as the castle grew closer. He felt like a character from a faerie tale.

"Heads down!"

They ducked their heads, eyes widening as they passed through a curtain of ivy into a hidden cavern that Harry suspected sat under Hogwarts itself. The boats moored themselves on another small bank, and they clambered out, whilst the giant man checked the boats.

"Anyone lost a toad?" he asked, his loud voice booming in the cavern as he held up a green toad that the fanciful side of Harry imagined to be a cursed prince.

"Trevor!" a round-faced boy cried, rushing out of the small crowd and to the man, hands outstretched.

Once the toad, Trevor, had been safely returned to his owner, the man led them out of the cavern and across the damp lawn, darkened by the castle's shadow. They walked the length of a long wall, and up a short flight of steps, before coming to a halt in front of two, huge oak doors. The man raised a large fist and knocked.

The knock seemed to resound deep within the castle and Harry shivered. The doors swung open inwards to reveal a stern looking witch, dressed in a deep colour the shade of green clovers. She looked down at them all.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," the man stated, proudly.

"Thank you, Hagrid," the witch said. She stepped aside. "In," she commanded.

Nervously, they obeyed, flooding inside. Warmth washed over them, and Harry blinked rapidly at the sudden change in light. Torches lined the smooth stone walls, lending both light and heat, and illuminated a large entrance hall. Professor McGonagall closed the doors, before turning to them all.

"Follow me."

The professor led them across the entrance hall, and into a small room, where they had to pack close together in order to fit. Professor McGonagall stood at the head of them all, watching as they peered around.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she greeted. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, whilst you are here, your house will be something like your family. You will have classes together, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourself up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, double-checking there weren't any stains on her robes.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," continued Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She left the room.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" a girl a little behind him asked.

"Some sort of test, I think," the redhead Harry had shared a boat with said, frowning slightly. "Fred – my brother – says it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. A test? In front of the whole school? But he barely knew any magic, and, whilst he had read his textbooks, he could hardly say he knew them by heart. Unless it was a test of personality? That made the most sense. After all, the Houses were all separated by traits: Gryffindors were brave and chivalrous; Ravenclaws were witty and loved learning; Hufflepuffs were loyal and hard-working and Slytherins were cunning and ambitious. Harry relaxed a little bit. If it was on personality that wouldn't be so bad. And he personally felt that all of the houses had pretty good traits to have. Regardless of the stigma.

Several people suddenly screamed. Harry near jumped a foot in the air, whirling around to see what was wrong.

About twenty ghosts had just passed through the room's back wall. Shimmering white and partially transparent, they glided through the air, talking amongst themselves – not noticing the assembled first years.

What appeared to be a ghost of a monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance."

"My dear Friar," a ghost with a ruff began, "haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name, and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?" The ghost had suddenly noticed them all.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Friar, beaming from ear to ear. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"

Harry, along with a few others, nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" the Friar continued. "My old house you know."

"Move along now," interrupted a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. The ghosts, under her firm gaze, floated away through the wall opposite from which they had arrived.

"Now," the Professor caught back their attention, "form a line, and follow me."

Nerves running rife within him again, Harry got into line between a girl with golden hair and a boy, who's long legs were oddly disproportionate to the rest of him. They were led out of the room, across the entrance hall, and through a pair of double doors.

In all of his reading, Harry had never imagined such a hall. It was lit by thousands upon thousands of candles that floated in the air above four long tables, which were mostly filled up with other, older students. At the top of the hall was another long table, positioned a little higher than the rest and perpendicular to them. It was here where the Hogwarts staff sat, looking down at the rest of the hall with varying expressions – most of them bemused and positive. Dotted amongst it all were the ghosts that had terrified them just moments ago, shining a misty silver. And then, perhaps most impressively, instead of a ceiling there was a velvety ceiling decorated in stars. It was as though the Great Hall opened up to the heavens themselves.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," whispered a voice a little ahead of him in the line. "I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History."_

Harry tore his eyes away from the spectacular work of magic as Professor McGonagall placed a rickety stool in front of them. On top of the stool she placed a frayed, browned wizard's hat that Harry was hard pressed to imagine was anything under 200years-old. He quickly glanced around and noticed that the rest of the hall was now staring at the hat, so he returned his gaze to it and stared too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence, then the hat twitched and spontaneously burst into song:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

"But don't judge on what you see,

"I'll eat myself if you can find,

"A smarter hat than me.

"You can keep your bowlers black,

"Your top hats sleek and tall,

"For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

"And I can cap them all.

"There's nothing hidden in your head,

"The Sorting Hat can't see,

"So, try me on and I will tell you,

"Where you ought to be.

"You might belong in Gryffindor,

"Where dwell the brave at heart,

"Their daring, nerve and chivalry,

"Set Gryffindors apart;

"You might belong in Hufflepuff,

"Where they are just and loyal,

"Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,

"And unafraid of toil;

"Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

"If you've a ready mind,

"Where those of wit and learning,

"Will always find their kind;

"Or perhaps in Slytherin

"You'll make your real friends,

"Those cunning folks use any means

"To achieve their ends.

"So, put me on! Don't be afraid!

"And don't get in a flap!

"You're in safe hands (though I have none),

"For I'm a thinking cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause and it bowed to each of the four tables before it, then became quite still once again. Harry blinked. ' _Did that really just happen?'_ he wondered.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said, her voice ringing clear. She paused. "Abbott, Hannah!"

Harry watched as a girl with blonde ponytails shuffled out of line, put on the Hat and sat down. There was a moment's pause, before,

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry let himself drift a little, suddenly dreading his own name coming up. People were _bound_ to mistake him for _the_ Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. He'd have to set them straight, but he never had been good at…well anything social. He was socially awkward to the core – not helped by the constant having to explain that he was not _the_ famous Harry Potter, just _a_ Harry Potter.

"Potter, Harry!"

Internally groaning, Harry reluctantly left the line to the backdrop of an outburst of whispers: " _Potter_ , did she say?" and " _The_ Harry Potter?" being the most common. The last thing Harry saw before the Hat fell past his eyes was the entirety of the Hall craning to get a good look at him. He sighed.

' _Hmm, well that is an awkward name to have, isn't it, Mr Potter?'_ the Hat chuckled in his mind, startling him slightly. ' _It will be difficult being your own person when the saviour of the wizarding world shares your name.'_ The Hat paused. _'Oh? What is this? You wish to shine…'_

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. _'Yes. For my mother.'_

 _'And what lengths would you go to, to shine, Mr Potter?'_ the Hat asked.

' _I'd do anything to make her proud,'_ he mentally whispered, his eyes suddenly stinging. _'I promised her.'_

' _Yes,'_ the Hat said sombrely. _'From what I can see in your mind, Ravenclaw or Slytherin would suit you best. Ravenclaw because of your love of books and learning. Slytherin for your ambition, and that cunning streak you hide so well behind your fantastical ideologies. Any preference, Mr Potter?'_

 _'Not really,'_ he admitted. ' _They both seem okay.'_

The Hat chuckled. _'Most students these days beg me to put them anywhere put Slytherin. It's nice to see a change – I'm sure Salazar would be proud to have you in his House.'_

 _'Does that mean…'_

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry took the Hat from his head, placed it on the stool, before turning out to face the hall. It seemed to be in a state of shock. Feeling hot all of a sudden, he all but fled to what he hoped was the Slytherin table and sat down – desperately trying to hide from the eyes that followed him.

Professor McGonagall gave a cough, before saying, "Potter, Harry!"

Harry watched as the raven-haired boy he had felt that strange tug towards stepped out from the line. _His_ backdrop was to: "Wait, what?" and "There's _two_ of them?" Harry couldn't help but feel a little bad for the mess he'd caused but swallowed it down and watched with the rest of the school as the second Harry Potter put on the Hat. There was a long stretch of silence – lasting almost five minutes – before the Hat yelled,

"SLYTHERIN!"

Uproar. Slytherins clapped, appearing a little confused, whilst some Gryffindors shouted, "HOW COME THEY GET BOTH OF THEM!" and both Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs alike broke out into bewildered and disappointed gossip, no doubt hoping that Harry Potter (preferable the famous one) would be in their House.

Harry gave Famous Harry a nervous smile as he sat down next to him. He received a wolfish grin in return. Famous Harry leant in and whispered into Harry's ear,

"Why not make the most it? Think of the fun we can have if we don't tell them which Harry is which."

Harry swallowed. It was just his luck that Famous Harry thought that they could use this turn of events to prank the school. Just his bloody luck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _Dear Other-Harry,_

 _Meet me in The Leaky Cauldron on 24th August at 12. We're going to the World Cup._

 _Harry._

Harry rolled his eyes. Other-Harry – or Raven as Draco had dubbed him back in first-year after getting sick with the confusion – never wrote normal letters to him. No. His letters were statements to meet him somewhere for some reason that he didn't always disclose until he could do so in person. None of their other friends got this treatment. Just him. He supposed this made him special.

"Thanks Hedwig," Harry murmured, giving the snowy owl a strip of toast.

Hedwig gave a short hoot, before taking the toast and flying out of the window.

Once he'd placed his now empty plate in the dishwasher, Harry left the kitchen in search of his aunt. He doubted she would care about his absence but as she was his guardian he ought to tell her when he was going to be away.

Vienna Lovett, he discovered, was going through her wardrobe – tossing her clothes into two piles: 'to be burnt' and 'to keep'. Harry wasn't surprised to see that the 'to be burnt' pile was the larger of the two.

"What do you want?" Vienna snapped, eyeing up two identical tops.

"I'm leaving for a bit," Harry answered. "Going to the World Cup."

"Fine," Vienna waved off. "You know where the money is."

"Thanks," Harry murmured, swiftly leaving the bedroom.

He ducked into his own bedroom – a small box room embellished in handmade decorations and photographs pegged to strings of his friends and his mother – and began to throw a bag together. Spare set of clothes, a book, and a camera were shoved inside the honey yellow backpack, before the bag was shrugged onto his shoulders. Harry tapped his hoodie pocket to double check his wand was still there, as well as his iPod, before heading downstairs and back to the kitchen.

Stretching onto his toes, Harry pulled out the 'cookie jar' and opened it up. He counted out £50 of muggle money, before putting the jar back with a roll of his eyes at the sheer predictability of it. He'd been telling his aunt for years that it would be the first-place burglars would look, but did she listen? No, of course not. Pocketing the money, he walked into the entrance hall and yelled up the stairs,

"I'm going now!"

He didn't receive an answer, but he hadn't expected one.

The street he lived on was quiet. The old Victorian town houses stood strong, touching as they lined the road. Above it was a clear blue sky, and a sun that beat down onto the concrete and parked cars, causing heat to radiate from below as well as above. Pushing in his earphones and pressing play, Harry began to walk to the train station at the end of the street – Panic at the Disco beginning to blare through the earbuds.

He didn't have to wait long for the train – there was one every ten minutes into Charing Cross – and when he did, he slipped inside along with a few others, into a fairly busy carriage. He stood near the door, scrolling through his music selection absently and keeping an eye out for any pickpockets. Ever since he had been pickpocketed £20 in Kings Cross, he had been extra suspicious of everyone who came near him.

The journey was thankfully short, for which he was grateful as when he got out at Leicester Square, at least 50 tourists pushed their way onto the train – babbling like the flock of confused pigeons at Trafalgar Square.

He barely had to walk five minutes before he was standing in front of The Leaky Cauldron. The dingy pub sat unnoticed by the muggles – their eyes simply passing straight over it. Running a hand through his copper hair, he crossed the busy road and entered the pub.

It was like walking a couple centuries into the past. Gone was the buzz of modern London. Wizards and witches dressed in robes belonging in the very far past, sat around splintering tables with tankards of butterbeer or Firewhisky. Many had the day's soup sitting in front of them – it being nearly the time for lunch – and were peering at The Daily Prophet through poorly prescribed spectacles or magnifying glasses.

Aware he was early, Harry passed straight through the pub and into Diagon Alley, which was abuzz with shoppers. He slipped through the crowds up to the white marble bank that sat at the top of the street, staring down at them unimpressed: Gringotts. The muggle money in his pocket needed converting if he was planning on using it.

"Yes?" sneered a goblin.

"I'd like to exchange £50 muggle money into wizards' currency," Harry stated, popping out his earbuds with one hand, and pulling out the cash with the other.

The goblin eyed the money, before snapping out a hand. "That will be a galleon's fee."

"Take it out of the exchange," Harry said, not batting an eyelid as he handed over the money. He hadn't thought the exchange fee would've changed anytime soon.

The goblin disappeared for a few moments before running with a pouch of coins. "24 Galleons," the goblin said, dropping the pouch into Harry's hand. "Any other business?"

"No thank you," Harry said, pushing the money into his already quite-full backpack.

He left the bank and headed back to The Leaky Cauldron – it now being 12pm. His eyes dragged over a poster advertising The Quidditch World Cup that was pasted to the wall, before snapping back in front of him as he re-entered the pub.

"There you are!"

Harry jumped, whirling round to see the Other-Harry grinning at him. Glaring, he took his earbuds back out, paused his iPod and pocketed it all. "You make it sound like I'm late."

"You are," Raven shrugged, pointing to the clock on the wall.

It was 12:01.

"Hardly," Harry muttered.

"Come on," Raven said, pushing him deeper into the pub, "Sirius and Remus are waiting for us."

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had been the one to raise the Famous Harry Potter. Completely in secret, as, to all the world, Famous Harry Potter was living with his muggle relatives. Even Dumbledore wasn't privy to the truth. The two men claimed it was for safety, but both Harrys knew it was because they didn't trust Dumbledore not to interfere.

Harry had grown to see Sirius and Remus as the uncles he had never had growing up – he was round _that_ often. The two – well Sirius – took great delight in the prank he and Raven had been pulling for the past couple three years. To this date, no-one knew which Harry Potter was _The_ Harry Potter. Personally, Harry wasn't sure whether he should be proud at how long they had pulled it off, or worried about how thick the rest of the world had to be to have not figured it out yet.

In his eyes, it was perfectly obvious. But he supposed that he hadn't helped anyone by being a carbon copy of a male Lily Potter nee Evans. When Raven had first showed him a photo of his mother, Harry had gone into minor shock. It simply _wasn't possible_ that he could not only have the same name as her son but _be her freaking male clone._ He'd gotten over it eventually, but it had taken a while. It had certainly explained why both Sirius and Remus had choked when they first met him.

"Harry 1! Harry 2!" Sirius greeted, jumping up. Beside him, Remus rolled his eyes.

"Hey," Harry said, whilst Raven muttered, "You saw me literally two seconds ago."

"Ready?" the Black asked, practically vibrating with excitement.

"He's been like this all week," Remus said at Harry's questioning look.

Sirius ignored the exchange. "Well? Are you?"

"Yes?" Harry said hesitantly – not sure _what_ exactly he was supposed to ready for.

He tilted his head for a moment. "Good enough!" He held out his arm to Raven, whilst Remus held his arm out to Harry. "We'll be Apparating there. Hold on tight."

Harry glanced up at Remus, who nodded, before taking hold of the werewolf's arm. There was a pause, and then suddenly he felt as though he was being pulled inside out whilst spinning through a small tube.

He hated Apparating.

His feet suddenly hit uneven ground and he stumbled – near face planting.

They had appeared on the edge of a thick forest that stretched as far as they could see. A little ahead of them, was an oddly dressed wizard holding a long roll of parchment. Short, rotund, and wearing a bright pink mackintosh over jogging bottoms and a plunge-neck t-shirt, the wizard appeared to be doing his best to appear 'muggle'. Having grown up in London and therefore seen all sorts of oddly dressed people, Harry just sighed. Beside him, Raven gave the wizard an odd look.

"Do you think he's blind?" he whispered to Harry.

"Ah! Lord Black!" the wizard suddenly shouted, having caught sight of the group of four, and began to hurry over. "Right on time."

"Eric," Sirius greeted.

"Single tent, yes?" Eric asked, looking down at his parchment.

Sirius glanced at Remus questioningly.

"Yes, booked a few weeks ago," Remus answered.

"Yes, yes, it's all here," Eric mumbled to himself. He suddenly pulled a much smaller roll of parchment from his pocket. "Here you are, a map of the campsite. You're over in the next field with the other Lords."

Remus accepted the map, whilst Sirius let out a moan,

"Why'd you put us with the other purebloods, Moony?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Because Harry and Harry are good friends with those purebloods, Sirius. Or had you forgotten?"

Sirius pouted. "What about _my_ friends?"

"You don't have any friends."

"Ouch Moony," Raven whistled. "Harsh."

Remus shrugged casually, but the corner of his mouth had upturned. "Come on. The sooner we find our tent, the sooner we can explore."

They trudged up the field, moving between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary – their owners clearly having tried to make them look as muggle-like as possible but had slipped up by adding chimneys or bell-pulls or weather vanes. Some, however, were so obviously magical that Harry half-expected them to sprout wings and start flying about. For example, half-way up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little further on was a tent that had three floors and several turrets.

"Always the same," Remus sighed.

They weren't the only ones walking around. Small children zoomed around on broomsticks that only hovered a foot off the ground – chased by distressed Ministry officials, who looked as though they might burst into tears at any given second. Small clusters of teenagers were dotted about as well, and at one point they passed a group of pretty girls in green, who were all talking rapid French to each other. The campsite was alive and thrumming with anticipation.

The purebloods' pitch was much more sophisticated than what else they had seen of the campsite. Large tents in luxurious materials and colours were pitched, with small, neat gardens around them. House crests were emblazoned on each tent – proudly stating to whom they belonged. Their tent was in-between two houses Harry didn't recognise – Laurent and Vicci.

It was a pleasant dark blue colour with both the Black and Potter crests on the door-flaps. It was trimmed in gold and had a pair of lanterns hanging on hooks just outside for when it eventually got dark. Inside was just as simple, if a little less formal looking.

Bigger on the inside – ' _like the Tardis'_ Harry thought – it stretched out into an open plan kitchen/sitting room decorated in light, neutral colours. There was a stove and a fireplace, as well as a bookshelf filled with various guides to camping. There were three doors – one leading to a fully tiled, working bathroom, and the other two to separate bedrooms, one of which had two single beds. It was comfortable.

"Had lunch yet Ginger?" Sirius asked, already rummaging in the kitchen.

"No, but I had breakfast just before I left," Harry answered, internally sighing at the nickname the man had given him a few years ago.

"So, you'll have plenty of room for lunch."

Harry didn't bother arguing. Chances were Remus would have to drag Sirius away from the kitchen forcefully when he eventually set something on fire, before taking up the role of chef himself. Remus's cooking was pretty good – certainly something he never turned down. At home, he lived off whatever he could order in or buy ready-made at the supermarket. He was like Sirius in the regard he shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a kitchen.

"Why don't you two go and explore the campsite?" Remus suggested. "We'll call you back when lunch is ready."

The two Harrys glanced at each other, before nodding and exiting the tent. They made their way back through and out of the 'rich people area' as Raven dubbed it and into where the fun was happening in the sprawling mass of tents and wizards trying and failing to pass for muggles. As they explored, they passed a Ministry official talking to an elderly wizard who was in what appeared to be a flowery nightgown.

"Just put them on Archie," the official said, brandishing a pair of pinstripe trousers and a shirt. "You can't walk around like that – the Muggles on the gate's already getting suspicious."

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," Archie said crossly. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle _women_ wear them, Archie, not the men. They wear _these_ ," said the Ministry wizard, shaking the clothes in front of him.

"I'm not putting them on!" Archie declared indignantly. "I like a healthy breeze around my privates, thanks!"

Raven was overcome with such a strong fit of hysterical laughter that Harry had to drag him away, trying not to laugh himself.

They were just coming up to a field of tents covered in shamrocks when they waved down.

"Harry! Raven!"

The two Harrys turned to see Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott walking up the hill. The two boys looked much the same as they always did, though lacking the outer robes. They still wore their button-up shirts and fitting trousers.

"You didn't tell me you were coming!" Draco fumed.

Raven gave a lopsided grin. "Must've slipped my mind."

Harry shrugged. "I didn't know myself until a couple of hours ago."

"How long have you been here?" Theo asked. "I arrived with Blaise early this morning."

"Just now," Raven said. "Where is our Italian friend?"

"Chatting up some students from Beauxbatons," Draco answered, rolling his eyes. "We left him to it."

"Girls or boys this time?" Harry asked, a grin tugging on his lips.

"Both," Theo answered, smiling himself.

Blaise had very quickly earned himself a reputation as an outrageous flirt way back in first year, and his reputation was well-earned. With his handsome features, suave Italian and astounding self-confidence he won over a lot of hearts in Hogwarts. As much as his friends found it annoying, they did not complain about the rewards – information about everyone. It seemed, when one was trying to impress, they could come up with some pretty juicy secrets.

"Who're you supporting?" Raven asked.

"Ireland," Draco answered, whilst Theo answered, "Bulgaria."

Draco scoffed. "Oh please, Ireland is by far the superior team."

"But Bulgaria has Krum," Theo shot back.

"One player does not outmatch a whole team."

Harry and Raven exchanged a glance. Harry, personally, did not care all that much for Quidditch and didn't know too much about the various teams across the world. Raven did follow Quidditch but had already told him he didn't care which team won the Cup because his favourite – Norway – hadn't qualified for the finals.

"Ireland could win but have Krum catch the snitch," Harry pointed out. "That's how Ravenclaw won against Gryffindor last year."

Raven nodded. "Catching the snitch doesn't always mean you win the match. Weasley is a superior seeker to Chang but Ravenclaw played better strategies."

Before either Draco or Theo could comment on this theory, they were interrupted by a familiar tropical bird swooping down and landing on Raven's shoulder. Harry rolled his eyes at Sirius's pet bird – Gaedar – as he stuck out his leg, a small scroll tied to it. Raven detached the scroll quickly and gave it a quick glance over before looking over at Harry.

"Lunch is ready," he said, as Gaedar flew away, satisfied the message had been delivered.

Harry nodded and turned to Draco and Theo. "Where are you sitting?"

"Top box," Draco said smugly.

Theo rolled his eyes at the blonde. "Continental box with Blaise and his mother."

"Ciara is here?" Raven said, raising his eyebrows.

"Blaise said it's her way of making up for being away at the start of the summer on honeymoon."

"Which husband is this again?" Draco asked.

"16 I think," Theo answered.

Harry sighed. "Explains where Blaise got his personality from." He paused. "Anyway, we should probably get going before Sirius sends out a search party."

Raven snorted. "Or Remus."

Theo and Draco nodded.

"See you in the top box," Raven grinned, before grabbing Harry's hand and tugging him away into the crowd.

"If they're gay for each other it's really going to throw a wrench in your two-year-plan to get Raven to fall in love with you," Theo commented, watching the two Potters go.

Draco's left eye twitched. "I admitted that to you when I thought we were certainly going to die. You do not need to rub it in my face every chance you get."

He shrugged. "Just saying."

* * *

 **A/N - I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE! I had my GCSE exams and then my exams gave me writers' block and then I was working in a fudge factory and now I've started 6th form college so am currently really busy. I promise this story is not going to be abandoned!**

 **Thank you to Guest, XxDragon King DragneelxX and Violet Rose of Darkness for reviewing the first chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy the second,**

 **hazel**


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